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 Posted: Thu Dec 30, 2010 2:44 pm
After The Magnificence of Darkness...Nothing. Nothing. Still nothing. Pages turned. Pens scrawled furiously on notepads. Still there was nothing. It was her own fault, Aila decided, for settling for only his first name. Retrospectively, it might not have even been his real name. Even so, she could, after recording it so frequently, write it neatly with her eyes closed. Perhaps even with a calligraphy pen. That single word had even seeped into her dreams, haunting her in her sleeping hours as well as her waking. Seth. "Know thy enemy" was a phrase that Aila had come to appreciate in her time as a jewel thief. Researching locations for weak points where security would likely be heightened, finding gaps in that security to act as entry and escape routes, even predicting the positions of the guards - reconnaissance was one of the little thief's specialties. As if to prove her abilities to herself, Aila flipped through the notes she had taken on Team Rocket. It was not an unimpressive array, boasting information from the earliest roots of the organization as it formed in Kanto all the way to its current status around the world, including its activity in Kodo. (Of particular interest, she had noted, was the fact that Team Rocket had been dismantled by children on multiple accounts.) However, the information Aila sought over all else, was that which regarded the towering stranger she had encountered in the bank the other night: Seth, or so he claimed. Skilled beyond all expectation, strong in presence and pokemon, possessing a stature that only a blind man could overlook... The girl could only marvel that there were no records of this man. But why was he in with an organization of clowns? What made Kodo's branch of Team Rocket so much more amazing than those of other regions? Or had the present-day Team Rocket exceeded the bar set by past incarnations? Just how powerful had they become? Just how influential would they be as a world power? And how much use would they be to her?Aila cracked the spine on another book, the speed of her pen mirroring the speed of her thoughts as she continued her research, a solid direction still yet eluding her.
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Posted: Thu Dec 30, 2010 2:46 pm
Before Une Nouvelle Amie..."Will you not cooperate?!" Small arms were thrown up in utter frustration to accompany the shout. The Bulbasaur stopped her frolicking and turned to her trainer with an expression of confusion. They stood there, locked in a momentary and silent battle, until the grass pokemon lost interest and took off anew. Aila groaned in exasperation, pulling a hand across her face to regain her composure. She took in a deep breath, held it in her lungs, and exhaled calmly. She approached Fleur, who had taken a friendly interest in one of the training dummies, lifted her into her arms, and carried her to a corner of the gym devoid of distractions. "Petal Dance," she said, setting down the Bulbasaur and glaring at her icily. "You produce a flurry of flower petals from your person. It is a damaging attack that causes confusion as a side-effect. Do it." Of course, having given up her occupation as a jewel thief, Aila no longer had any foreseeable need for Petal Dance. It was a useful move, however, and she wished for Fleur to learn it. Fleur, picking up on the gravity in her human's voice, shrank away slightly. Aila's eyes narrowed in disproval in response. "No ketchup." The Bulbasaur's eyes snapped up. No ketchup? Blasphemy! Certainly her girl would not go as far as to deprive her of her passion, her ambrosia, her very lifeblood...! "You, of all people, should understand just how frequently I jest." Oh. Oh, now this was serious. This was serious indeed. Ketchup was at stake. Ketchup forever. No ketchup ever again. That was just wrong and horrible. Fleur concentrated with every fiber of her being. Petal Dance. She could feel it welling up within her. She could do it. She envisioned it, embraced it, became it. Petal Dance. A glow enveloped the Bulbasaur, a bright white light that flooded her entire form. That same form shifted and changed, expanding, stretching, retracting. When the transformation had completed and the light faded away, the creature left in its wake was none other than an Ivysaur. Aila approached the Ivysaur with a mild curiosity, crouching in front of her. "That is not what I asked," she said flatly. "That is not Petal Dance. That is not any manner of attack." Oh no. Fleur despaired, red eyes clouding with tears. All the ketchup, gone forever, all because she had so foolishly evolved. How could she have made such a dire error? Her sorrows were quelled, though, by the sudden sensation of a hand on her head. She turned her gaze up to find her human regarding her with a tender smile. "That is not a Petal Dance," Aila repeated, "but it will do nonetheless."
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Posted: Thu Dec 30, 2010 2:48 pm
After Ballroom Blitz..."... suffered a severe injury to his arm as well as a number of smaller wounds resulting from the shattered window. In the confusion caused by the attacker's Misdreavus, the Duke's young daughter suffered a blow. To the vast grief of the nation, she passed away at the scene, still in her father's..." The computer lab was dark, and the report, delivered in French, whispered through the otherwise empty room. A click closed the video's page, and small fingers reached to type in another website address. It directed to a news article, posted about an hour prior, that roughly recounted the events of the Poke Ball. The article featured an image of a bright-eyed little girl standing proudly at her father's side, a modest smile on her lips. It was almost surprising how different she looked without that distinctive red necklace. Damask eyes drifted to the corner of the screen to check the time, and a few deft motions of the hand opened a new browsing tab and another web page. A live streaming video appeared on the screen. It was morning there, and a large crowd had assembled before a stage and a podium. A darkly-dressed man of raven hair and rose eyes strode across the platform and took his place at the microphone. His arm was heavily bandaged, and his expression was grave. " Brothers and sisters-" she winced, " -thank you for coming this morning. I'm not sure how far news has traveled at this point, but..." He paused, as though he had forgotten everything he had wished to say. Bulbs flashed in the audience. " As many of you are likely aware, I visited Kodo to encourage trade between she and Grande Ile. There was an assassination attempt, or that's what we've decided." A terrible sorrow contorted his features. " ...And my daughter... My Aila..." A deathly silence descended, and a woman entered the camera's view to catch the man as he crumpled, hiding his face behind his hand. "I told you," she spoke as if he would hear her through the computer, "I'm the only one left. It's my name now. Now and forever." A vicious rage swelled within her, and stood suddenly, pushing the table with such force that the monitor toppled over. "This is your fault! You brought it on yourself! You deserve everything you got! You deserve even more than that!" She panted quietly, tired by the unexpected outburst and trembling only slightly. She uttered something of an annoyed sound and moved to right the toppled computer, but a thought froze her halfway through her task. " ...Maman, j'ai tué votre petite-fille. Êtes-vous fier de moi?" The small voice found only silence and received only silence in reply. She stood unmoving for some time, as though she had been paralyzed. At length, a sigh broke her stiff posture, and she set the computer back in its proper orientation and moved to return to her room.
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Posted: Thu Dec 30, 2010 2:48 pm
After Work It Out...He was a handsome bird, all cream- and chestnut-colored with honey-brown eyes. He had lived his life as a national treasure, though an unfortunate mishap with an Everstone meant that he would never know the world as a Pidgeot. It mattered little, though; he continued to live a pampered life despite his inability to evolve. And then those children had taken office, and his entire world was tossed and tumbled. " Que peut faire cet Roucoups?" He had despaired to hear the words. Why should he be expected to do anything? He was a prize, meant to be coveted and adored! But the poor bird could voice no objection, and before long his dainty, snow-colored feathers were tearing through the wind, well-polished talons clutching at various envelopes that bore Parliament's seal. A messenger. That was the low to which he had fallen. It wasn't such a horrible job once he had become acclimated to it, though. He basked the admirations of his messages' recipients and was waited on suitably during his moments of respite. With time, he became accustomed to his new existence. He didn't like it nearly as much, but what could be done? He could voice no objection, after all. Years passed. He became exceptionally skilled at his deliveries, whisking away messages to faraway nations and regions, across plains, mountains, and seas. Then, one day, he returned to havoc. His home was in an uproar, and the impudent man who turned his life upside down seemed to be in an unshakeable state of depression. Strangest of all, the little one that had always doted on him so was missing. Every time he heard her name, it was in association with terrible sorrow or seething anger, and he began to connect the pieces. The little one was dead. He hadn't known her as much more than She Who Called Him Pretty and Sneaked Him Treats, so he found it difficult to grieve properly. The man took it hard, though. He had never seen a human cry so much or so frequently. And then, one night, the man entered his roost with a pensive expression. He reached out a hand and rubbed the Pidegotto's head. " Trouvez ma sœur. Protégez-la. Je vous en prie." It was an odd request, but it was those strange words that found the bird soaring through Kodo's skies. He carried a branch of mistletoe at the behest of that man, though he couldn't imagine the recipient would understand its meaning. His destination was vague, but he would fulfill that pretentious man's wish. At any cost, he would bring joy back to that pretentious man's face.
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Posted: Sun Jan 16, 2011 12:57 pm
(On the evening of January 16, the duke of Grande Ile gave an address. It would appear on the internet that same evening and in print the next day, though printed articles would by and large remain inside the country.)"Peace and prosperity are fleeting dreams, vast shadows that flit ever before us yet ever just out of reach. Ours is a world of evils: greed, indulgence, ignorance, envy… But despite this, we chase the shadows cast by the light of a better tomorrow. "Seventeen years ago today, nine of my friends united at my side to cast away the frivolity of pursuit. We decided that the promises of peace and prosperity were empty, and we instead took this nation into our own hands and filled it with the light that we lit ourselves, with our own will and our own hearts. We’ve combated hunger, poverty, and oppression, and even still we work towards the end of a world that every last resident of Grande Ile can enjoy. We have been called dreamers and idealists, and this is not untrue. For where will you find peace if you cannot dream of it? And where will you find prosperity if not in an ideal? Stigmas though they are, we wear them with all the pride in our hearts. "It is the greatest regret of my life that the seeds which have blossomed into the framework for this beautiful future were sown in the blood of our predecessors, in the blood of our own family. My father was a man who had lost himself to his own desires, sacrificing the wealth of the nation for his own personal wealth. Parliament followed him, and together they wrought a terrible staircase that spiraled down into the depths of a nightmare, our country doomed to walk its dark steps. My companions and I asked of him and the other Parliamentary lords that they either reconsider their priorities or step away from their positions. They refused us, laughed at us, and shooed us away. We were left with little other option, and so we responded with the Gold Purge. "For this, I have been hailed as a hero. Sacrifice is the fertile soil into which hopes are planted. This is what I have been told, and this is what we told one another as we steeled our resolve to slay our fathers. But no matter how you justify it, murder is murder. In extinguishing the life of one, you break the hearts of countless others. No death is anything less than tragic, regardless of the manner in which the life was spent. "My daughter would have been six in the spring. She was vibrant and energetic in the way only children can be. She loved her studies and was constantly imparting all of her learnings on me. There were, of course, some subjects that she struggled to grasp – especially mathematics and sciences – but I’m certain she would have bloomed into a brilliant young woman. She was as loving as she was loved, and she answered everyone with all the joy in her heart, unconditionally. Even in the last moments she was with us, she was a shining ray of purity and enthusiasm. I will always cherish her: all of the lessons she taught me, all of the joy she brought me, and all of the love she gave me. I would not trade these memories for anything in the world. "My daughter’s name was Aila Joli. She took her mother’s name as her second, as is customary for the girls of my family. Her first name was the same as the one promised to my dear sister, a girl whom I was never given the opportunity to meet. The night of the Gold Purge, my mother disappeared from the estate – possibly even from the country – with her yet unborn daughter. It was my first motion as duke to organize an effort to find her, but all searches were fruitless. I do not know what drove her to flee. It was never my intent to do her any harm, and even today do I still hate the idea that she was afraid I would deal her the same fate I dealt my father. She was blameless, my unborn sister even more so, and it ruined me for years and years to think that I had single-handedly wrought the demise of my entire family. "Aila gave me another a chance, a chance that I never dreamed I might have. I fear I can never make things right with the sister whom my actions drove away, but I could at least honor her small life. Aila had every opportunity her aunt would have had, every comfort, and every loving word. I can only hope that my sister saw my actions from wherever she may be and believed in my sincerity, for I can never ask her forgiveness. "It is because of this that I cannot resent the individual that took my Aila from me. I could not seek the murderer’s punishment without receiving punishment myself, for what am I myself if not a criminal, a murderer? No amount of pain nor tears will return my daughter to my arms nor my mother and father to my side. I will not ask for understanding, and I will not hope for forgiveness. I will do no less than continue forging this path forward, towards a world in which my daughter, my sister, and my mother could have lived happily. Regardless of any tragedy, Parliament and I will never allow the light of peace and prosperity to dim. "Let us treasure our loved ones and move forward together." (In officially distributed versions, a poem appears at the end of the text:) In pleasant evening’s fresh-clear darkness,
One seems a swan, the other a dove,
Both joyous, both lovely, O sweetness!
See, the elder and younger move
At the garden’s edge, and beside them
White carnations with long frail stems,
Stirred by the wind, in a marble urn,
Lean, watching them, live and motionless,
And, trembling with shade there, seem to be
Butterflies caught in flight, frozen ecstasy.
xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxVictor-Marie Hugo
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Posted: Mon Jan 24, 2011 4:44 pm
(After Volcano Villainy...)The heat of the volcano soaked through Aila's body, updrafts tousling already-loosened dark hair. The bright warmth of the magma reflected off her face and clothing and caught in her rose-colored eyes. She stood on the ledge and gazed out across the lava-filled bowl. The other Rockets were gone, the Ho-Oh and its egg were gone, her pokemon were gone. Fleur?She raised a hand to her throat. She'd spoken that aloud, hadn't she? Yet she had heard nothing. Her hand lowered, resting over her chest. Come to think of it, it was terribly difficult to breathe, perhaps due to the heat... "--lift her out." The voice startled her, and the suddenness of her resulting movement caused some terrible pain in her side. She groaned - or attempted to, as the sound was stifled in her thoughts - and crouched, clutching at her body with a grimace. She removed her hands from what she felt was the source of the sensation but could assess no real damage. Her hands next went to her forehead as she desperately struggled with the memories of why she was in the volcano to begin with. The Rockets, the Ho-Oh, the volcano... She couldn't force the fragments to connect. Another sharp pain, as if she were being ripped in two, stabbed with some vicious fervor... The girl staggered backwards with a cry she failed to voice, wrapping her arms around herself and tucking down her head to make herself as small as possible. Stabbed, stabbed again. She was bleeding, trembling, unable to move. She gathered her courage and lifted her gaze in search of her assailant. Pink eyes were met with pink eyes, and the small girl that filled her vision cupped her tiny hands on either side of the older girl's face. "The arm's a mess. Think we should amputate?" C'est ma vengeance.The little hands slid down and around her throat, thumbs suddenly pressing up with surprising force. The fact that she couldn't breathe became more and more real, and she struggled against he girl's restraining hands. But she couldn't move, couldn't defend herself, couldn't even cry out for help. "No, it can be saved. Worry about the vitals for now." C'est ma vengeance.The phrase repeated in her head, uttered in her own voice yet simultaneously in the voice of someone much younger. The volcano faded to shadow, leaving the two girls entwined in endless darkness. "Start prepping for surgery." C'est ma vengeance.Her mother's face entered her thoughts for the first time in years. What would become of her promise if she died? She had sworn on her honor that she would live until she saw Leon's death. Aila's vision blurred as she attempted to focus on the child who bound her throat with her hands. Tears welled in her wide eyes. It was wrong. It was all wrong. She was no different from her brother. She was nothing but a blind murderer. She should have been ashamed. She was ashamed. "All right, put her under." C'est ma vengeance.Even as she fell into the silence of slumber, her waking nightmare dragged on.
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Posted: Thu Feb 10, 2011 3:21 pm
(After Miss Muffet...)Realization.She stood, carefully placing one foot before the other. The pressure on her hip incited an awful pain, but she endured it. Pain-killers were an option if it became unbearable, much as she detested their use. Her first and foremost goal was to regain her ability to move about, even if that movement was very limited. She could no longer bear to stay in the same place. Her brother’s words, written though they were, remained fresh in her mind. Coming to understand them in their completion was proving a difficult task. Hers was a belief that had been driven into her thoughts from the moment she could understand her mother’s speech. Hers was a promise around which her entire world had revolved for the past six years. To suddenly be told that it was all wrong – that was wrong in and of itself. She walked, carefully placing one foot before the other. The weight on her shoulders incited an awful sorrow, but she endured it. Denial.It was not long before Aila had fully regained her control over locomotion. She couldn’t walk much or very far, and running was out of the question, but it was at least enough to enable her to get from point A to point B. The range of motion of her right arm, which had previously been limited due to the injuries in her chest and side, was returning to normal. Simple tasks such as dressing herself and eating meals were once more within her grasp, and she was infinitely grateful to no longer be so helpless. Conversely, a searing pain had begun to torment her left arm, so unbearable that it practically necessitated the use of drugs to quell it. This, however, was good – amazingly so. The fact that pain had finally arisen in the appendage indicated that connections were being reformed, giving her great hope for the future. Her brother was a liar. The memorial address he had given to the nation had been a desperate bid to get under his sister’s skin. He’d heard her say her name at the PokeBall. He knew who she was, and he knew exactly how to deter the assassin from approaching again. He was fiendishly cunning, just as her mother had said. Her mother had no benefit in deceiving her daughter, no benefit in constructing a life built around lies. Leon was the guilty party. Leon was the only one with blame. It was not long before Aila had fully regained control over her locomotion, but her thoughts and emotions continued on in a terrible whirlwind behind her damask eyes. Sorrow.Duty, even of the limited sort, was a dream. She was frequently faint, incapable of moving long distances, and unable to use her left arm for much else but bodily symmetry. She busied herself with reading and training her team, but even these small entertainments began to wear on her patience. Copious amounts of free time left her little else but to reflect on her brother’s address and its meaning. Why was a cold murderer of a man so well-received as the duke of a nation? Why, if he was so driven by greed, was he hailed as a hero? Why did all reports implicate him as the most steadfastly – if not foolishly – idealistic and kind-hearted leader to come to Parliament? It was a weighty façade to carry for nearly twenty years, both in public and private. He was a beloved man, both to his country and to his family. All perception of him, save for Aila’s own, was as a devout husband and father, a being with such a resounding love for humanity that he drove himself to the brink of exhaustion in effort towards bringing it happiness. But if these were true, and if the address was sincere, then every foundation upon which Aila’s purpose was built was effectively eroded, her promise to her mother rendered one of empty malice. Peace of mind, even fleetingly, was a dream. She was a criminal, a murderer, an existence without purpose. Resolve.It was not terribly long before Aila was at least relatively healthy. Her age and fitness catalyzed her healing, and her visits to the infirmary became less frequent. She remained bound to medical leave, though, and thus was kept from productive and meaningful work. In this way, she reached a decision. She had always had some small wish to more thoroughly explore Kodo, beginning with her adventure to Jinko and reaffirming itself in the training exercise near Sandalwood. Though it was a relatively small land, it was simultaneously vast and diverse, home to a number of different environments and pokemon. Her condition keeping her from duty for time yet to come, she began to put together plans for a journey. She assembled funds, food, clothing, and other basic necessities, and the following morning found the girl standing outside the base. A flash of light, its brightness muted by the disk of the rising sun, brought a large metal arachnid to her side, its red gaze fixed on the human. The Metagross, with its ability to use Magnet Rise, would be her means of transportation, enabling her to traverse Kodo despite the injury to her hip. A brief sigh passed her lips before she climbed aboard the steel-type, situating herself comfortably. A journey in search of oneself. Aila had always found the premise rather pretentious. What vanity was it that drove people to search for something greater than what they had? Now that she had been stripped of the self she had always known, though, she could begin to understand. To find it in herself to overcome her mother’s deception, to forgive her brother’s transgressions, to face the fact that the promise that had justified her actions was one born of baseless hatred: For this resolve, she set forward into the cool morning desert, her physical destination by and large unimportant. It was not terribly long before Aila cast herself out into the open lands, but it would be much longer before she found the answers she sought.
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Posted: Fri Sep 23, 2011 11:21 pm
(Approximately one year after joining Team Rocket, a new scrap of paper joins the small stash kept in the cardboard box under Aila's bed. Though undated, the condition of the paper compared to its companions clearly indicates that it is the most recent addition.)
I hadn't specifically planned to do something like this, but I have a bit of free time this evening and it could provide some motivation for the future, so I'll give it a shot.
It was a year ago a little over a year ago quite some time ago that I joined into Team Rocket. It's amazing to think that it's been so long, really. I remember the bank robbery, and attempting to subdue Seth... What a foolish chid I was. I should only have sought to learn from him, from the very beginning. I do wish I had more opportunity to speak with Seth. He may be coarse in speech and behavior, but he has much to teach.
I seem to have distracted myself already. Or perhaps not, seeing as though this record has no real aim; I'm merely reflecting on the past. Nostalgia, perhaps. In that vein, what fortune that I encountered at that museum. An amusing coincidence at the time. Some form of serendipity, even. At times I forget altogether the life I lead before the opportunity for change presented itself - and then I pass Izaya in the halls and am roughly reminded of it.
I was a stubborn girl... Perhaps I still am, but I have the distinct feeling that I was at the time completely insufferable. Reading back on the manner of speech I used... So stiff and proper. I embarrass myself. And so incredibly and fiercely independent... How did I never realize how lonely I was? Why was I so reluctant to accept the people around me?
Perhaps I still am.________________________
Moving on.
I lived for so long pursuing my brother's death as the purpose of my life. How incredibly sad that is, retrospectively, to live with the sole cause of killing another... Would that I could speak to my mother once more and ask her what she was thinking in assigning me such a task. What parent would seek revenge against her own son?
Would that I could speak to my niece once more and apologize for the horrible things I said to her that day. I was angry, and I was foolish, and that entire evening should never have happened. But it did happen, and there's nothing I can do to reverse that. I can't even properly apologize, because Leon is so swift to forgive me.
Why should he forgive me so readily? I understand that he is an altruist, but surely he cannot expect me to return to that estate some day. He can't. He could never. I'm beginning to suspect that I'm so incredulous of this concept because it's all I really want, but that sounds ridiculous so I won't pursue the thought any further.
(A few crescent-shaped marks of ink indicate a thoughtful tapping of the pen's tip against the paper before the writer proceeded.)
I've come a long way in a year, or so I'd like to think. I'm a fairly respected agent, I believe. Skilled in what I do, competent enough that I don't often face reprimand for my actions or decisions. Where shall I find myself another year from now? I can't imagine earning the prestige of an 'elite' before my 'agent,' so I'll merely work towards polishing my skills. Efficiency, sharper decision-making skills, a broader spectrum of knowledge - I'm looking forward to it. Learning more from those above me, teaching more to those below, watching those around me grow and improve as they continue on their own paths.
I'm glad I took the time to write this and put all these thoughts to form. Concluding these little introspective ramblings seems rather awkward, though. Do I simply stop writing and put the page aside? Leave some sappy, inspirational nugget of wisdom for my future self? Actually, I'll leave on note of a reminder: Check public storage for a Cyndaquil/put in a request. Also restock supply of cereal. Dangerously low quantities remain.
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Posted: Fri Nov 04, 2011 2:49 pm
(After Reconciliations. A series of letters are stashed alongside the boxes other loose contents. The words are all French, and the dates indicate that the exchange has been taking place for several months.)Dear Sister,
I am happy to hear that you are doing well, and I am absolutely thrilled to finally hear from you. Unfortunately the matter you're asking about is highly internal. I don't know much about it. I do remember there was some big to-do some years back, but the family took great measures to keep it away from the public eye. Even if there are written accounts of the event, I do not feel it is my station to divulge such information. I hope you will forgive me this.
Duke Leon Auguste de Valois II
_ _ ________ _ _
Dear Sister,
I spoke to the fon Fabre head today about the matter you mentioned; he informed me that his son is in fact missing at the moment, so there is good cause to believe that the person you saw is indeed the house's heir. I did not wish to inspire false hope, however, so I did not tell him what you wrote in your last letter. Do you have any way of confirming that the individual is the heir? His name is Luke, and it would do his family great good to know that he is safe.
Alou seems happy to deliver letters again - or I suppose you are calling him Gui now, are you not?
Duke Leon Auguste de Valois II
_ _ ________ _ _
Dear Sister,
That is a shame. Please let me know if you have the fortune to encounter him some time. His family is very worried.
I know I said that I would not do this, but I have included a few documents I found investigating the fon Fabre family's circumstances. I am doing this because I believe some of the information contained therein could help you to locate Luke again. Please do not tell his father, haha.
I am glad to hear that he has helped you. I originally sent Alou to you under the belief that you may be involved in something dangerous, and I asked him to protect you. If he has managed this, then I am infinitely happy that I sent him to you in the first place.
Duke Leon Auguste de Valois II
_ _ ________ _ _
Dearest Sister,
Please do. I may have accidentally mentioned that I have a rough idea of where their son might be... oops. Fortunately I managed to get myself off the hook, but they seem suspicious of me. Parliament is meeting later this month to discuss some matters; I hope they won't challenge me out of spite, haha.
I understand. I wish you could tell me more about your work. Honestly I am simply interested in what you've been doing all this time. I find it strange that I know so little about my sister.
Duke Leon Auguste de Valois II
_ _ ________ _ _
Dearest Sister,
Oh my, I'm not sure you want to hear about that. You may think the life of a duke is glamorous and exciting, but it truly is not so. I lose so much sleep, haha. I would not trade it for anything, but sometimes I wonder would it would be like if I could just take my wife and go live in the city and work a normal job. But I do love what I do, of course. There are people that depend on me, and it makes me so happy to know that I am not letting them down.
I suppose all that is sort of vapid and cryptic and does not tell you much about what I actually do. I imagine social and economic policies and attempt to put them into effect, mostly. I also oversee a number of committees that deal with social works, employment, education, infrastructure - everything comes back to me in some form. Well, it comes back to Parliament, but they seem to weigh my opinion quite heavily.
You know, it strikes me that I offered a place for you to stay if ever you wished to visit. This offer stands, of course. If ever you wish to take me up on that, just say so. I will be more than happy to accommodate you.
Duke Leon Auguste de Valois II
_ _ ________ _ _
Dearest Aila,
That sounds... incredibly dangerous! Please take care while you're working, and take care in between working as well! I don't know what I would do if something happened to you!
Really? Because I would absolutely adore it if you could be here, even briefly! I know you are hesitant after everything that has happened, but I can assure you that you will be nothing if not perfectly safe and welcome if you do decide to come. I hope you decide to come, because now you have gotten my hopes up!
Duke Leon Auguste de Valois II
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Posted: Tue Nov 08, 2011 1:23 pm
(After the previous solo and during All Your Base...)The morning air was growing colder, and the autumn season was tangible on Leon's breath as he observed the advent of the day. Hands rested on the railing of the balcony's banister and eyes wandered the horizon. His thoughts were serene and free of worry; this was his morning ritual before he succumbed to the various stresses of the day. As he stood there, a form appeared on the horizon that he absently viewed. He blinked and focused on the approaching shape, and a broad smile spread on his features as he recognized what he saw.
"Alou!" he raised a hand in greeting as the Pidgeotto perched on the railing. An envelope was bound about the bird's foot, and Leon reached for the ribbon binding it there, "Qu'avez-vous apporté pour moi?" The flying-type cooed at his former master and preened his feathers as the man received the parcel he had brought. A thumb slid along the back of the envelope, breaking the seal and freeing the contents. He pulled out the sheet of paper contained within and read the words written on the page.
Dear Brother, (He could not help but smile; she had still insisted on referring to him as Duke or Leon until recently.)
You need not worry for me. I have no desire to boast, but I've become very skilled at what I do. There is always danger, but if I proceed with hesitation or pessimism, it will only come back to haunt me.
I will admit to some hesitation - perhaps with a degree of irony after just writing how key it is to have confidence. It's not a matter of fearing injury or feeling unwelcome so much as it is an overwhelming reluctance to visit a place that has for so long felt forbidden to me. I do want to visit, though. I have a job coming up that I need to get ready for at the moment, but when I return I can requisition some time off. If it's all right, I could conceivably come around the beginning of next month.
I might be getting a little ahead of myself. Let me know your thoughts.
Aila
His eyes lingered on the words even after he'd finished reading. There was still something so surreal about receiving letters from his sister, so incredibly reassuring and heartwarming. Fondness gave way to a burst of excitement, and, with a bounce in his step, he returned to his chamber with an exclamation, "Joli!"
The named woman, seated at the bedroom's vanity to brush her hair, turned to face her husband with a bewildered expression. "What is it?"
The man seated himself beside her, squeezing himself into the remaining space on the seat and eliciting a giggle in response. "How would you like to meet my sister, darling?"
Joli's features saddened into a degree of worry, "Mon chéri, please tell me you aren't pursuing this goal again."
"What do you mean--" there was a brief moment of consideration, "no, no, Joli, the search is quite over. I, uh... I haven't mentioned it, but I've been exchanging letters with her." He offered the letter in his hand to his wife as evidence, who took it gingerly and skimmed the contents with an increasingly concerned expression.
"Leon, darling, this could be anyone," she said, her tone gentle as if confessing to a child that their favorite blanket had been ruined in the wash. The target of her words, however, would have none of that.
"I've met with her," his voice was indignant. "You remember Alou, don't you?" Joli had always favored the Pidgeotto, and she'd been rather put out when he had informed her that the bird wouldn't be delivering their correspondences any longer. "Truthfully, I sent Alou to find her... and he did. He's been delivering my sister's letters to me - and mine to her - for months now."
"How do you know the person he found was truly your sister? Your optimism is endearing, chéri, but don't you think that you're perhaps jumping to conclusions a little too eagerly?"
"I met her, Joli," he insisted, standing from the seat with an entreating gesture. "When we returned to Kodo late last winter? ...I met her there. We spoke. I told her Alou could bring letters to me. She sent letters. It's my sister."
The woman frowned, "That's why you came back to the room in such higher spirits, isn't it...? Why didn't you tell me?"
Leon's gaze fell from hers, and he moved backwards briefly, planting himself on the chest at the foot of the bed with a sigh. "Joli," still he kept from catching her eyes, "do you remember the girl that killed our daughter?" The face of the addressed paled, her disposition deflating at the memory. "The girl called herself Aila Christelle de Valois--"
"Are you trying to tell me that your sister killed my daughter?" Her tone was cold and bitter.
"Joli--"
"You've been exchanging letters with the person who killed my daughter? You want to bring her here? You want me to meet her?"
He stood abruptly, closed the distance between them, and clasped his hands on his wife's shoulders, "Listen to me, Joli. I love you. You know that I love you. You know that I love our daughter. But please, please listen to me when I say that I love my sister too. She may have murdered... but she is not a murderer." He released the woman in front of him, regarding her earnestly. "Her aim was to kill me, and though she had every opportunity to do so, she did not. I understand why you feel this way, but you did not see her." His words softened, "You did not watch helplessly as your only blood family was brought to tears by guilt."
The reply came as a murmur, "You know how I feel about that optimism..."
"And you know how much this means to me. You know how I agonized over finding my mother and sister. And now she's finally appeared to me and-- Wait, I'll get the letters." At a pace that could almost be described as a frenzy, Leon moved to one of the room's two night stands and pulled open the drawer, shuffling the papers about.
As he did so, Joli caught sight of the Pidgeotto waiting at the balcony and turned up the palm of her hand to invite him in. The bird complied, a fleeting flurry of wings bringing him to her side. Joli reached a slender hand forward to stroke his head, "Vous étiez ici, après tout, n'est-ce pas?" Gui - or Alou, as he was used to being addressed while visiting the duke - cooed softly and arched into the touch. This woman was almost as adoring as the little girl had been. "Que pensez-vous de ma sœur-frère?" said adoring woman asked quietly. "Est-elle une bonne personne?"
"Geo." The response was curt but proud and affirming, drawing a concerned frown.
"Here," suddenly Joli's lap was full of papers half pulled from their envelopes, "these are the letters she's written. Read them."
Joli looked to her husband with an initial expression of incredulity but resigned herself with a frown. There would be no talking him out of a mood like this. With a sigh, she gingerly took one of the letters into her hands and scanned its contents. When she had finished, she read the next. Several long moments passed in silence as she continued, Leon watching her a short ways off with his arms crossed. When she had finished, she lowered the last of the notes and turned her attention to the waiting man, "I wish you would have told me about all this sooner."
"I am truly sorry, ma chérie," he said, closing the distance enough to take his wife's hand into his own. "I was afraid that the explanation would hurt you. I didn't want to cause you suffering..."
Long fingers intertwined with Leon's, "I am stronger than you think, mon amour." Gentle brown eyes found those of her husband. "You intend to invite her, don't you?"
"I will do nothing to displease you, beloved."
A faint smile. "...I should face her. And... she should be allowed to know her own family. To see her own home." Witnessing the immense hope that spread on Leon's face, it was impossible to keep her smile from widening. He could be such a child sometimes. "Go ahead and invite her. I'll do what I can to make her feel welcome." Joli was wrapped in a sudden hug and given a warm kiss, to which she could only laugh, "Go on, now, go on, I need to finish dressing. T'es bête..." A light tap of her hand on his cheek chided his silliness and dismissed him.
Though his wife didn't outwardly think much of it, Leon understood what a struggle it had been for her to cede to him. He understood that she wasn't as happy with the circumstances as she would like him to believe, and he silently vowed to make it up to her. Hopefully she and Aila could come to be friends during his sister's visit.
The following day found Gui departing from Grande Ile, soaring between blue seas and blue skies to return home to his trainer. An envelope was bound about his foot, bearing the duke's reply to his sister:
Dearest Aila,
I am so happy to hear that you've become such a fine young woman. It takes great courage to face the day with confidence in success; I have been serving this nation for many years and even still I frequently doubt my decisions. You cannot know how proud I am of you, my sister.
I have discussed the possibility of your visit with my wife, and she has given the idea her support. She has said you have every right to see your home, and I agree with her fully. We're your family, Aila. I absolutely cannot wait to have you here. Let me know how your plans work out. It would be wonderful if you could be here for the winter holidays!
By the time this letter reaches you, you'll probably have finished the job you mentioned in your last message. If so, I hope it went well. If by some fortune you see this note before departing, then good luck and take care. I await your reply.
Duke Leon Auguste de Valois II
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Posted: Sun Nov 13, 2011 7:29 pm
(After All Your Base...)Aila's room was neatly-kept, if not a bit scarce; she didn't keep a great deal of possessions, and so the chamber was always left looking a little empty. Her bed was properly made, occupied by a sleeping Jirachi, who had been left out due to her fear of being in her pokeball, and Whimsicott, who had been left for the express purpose of keeping the aforementioned Jirachi company. Propped against the foot of the bed was a sheathed rapier, left there from where its owner placed it after a brief exercise early that morning. A small potted plant sat atop the dresser, flanked by a similarly sized sun lamp to compensate for the room's lack of windows and a water bottle intended to misting the soil. The flowering plant was obviously well-cared for, as evidenced by its vibrant colors, glossy leaves, and healthy blooms. A notepad rested beside it, open to a page bearing notes on how to properly look after the flower. Evidently she had been following those notes dutifully. A little ways from the bloom was a jewelry box of an unimpressive exterior. It was filled primarily with gems that the owner would recognize as the fruits of her previous occupation. One piece, however, was missing: a finely polished labradorite pendant that she favored as the first gem she'd taken. The computer desk was stacked with books on a wide variety of subjects: psychology, theatre, geography, anatomy, language, literature. Beside these stacks were a smaller number of DVD cases, many of them movies or performances of screenplays that she had in her possession. A few magazines, newspaper pages, and printed out articles intermingled with the amalgam, most of them foreign. A standard-issue laptop sat amidst the printed materials, a faint light blinking on one of its panels to indicate that it had been left turned on. If one were to open and wake it, the screen would fill with a half-complete report she had been filing the previous night. The majority of her personal belongings were kept at the nightstand near her bed: a thick journal that she had been keeping for years, a shoebox filled with loose notes and documents, and several notebooks and memo pads. There were accounts of her day-to-day life, mission summaries, records of her thoughts on the various Rockets she knew, commentary on her various pokemon, and the odd written introspection. There was also a collection of letters from her brother, as well as one that had not yet been taken from the envelope. Of particular interest, however, was a small notepad bearing a simple title scrawled onto its cover: "Will." The memo was an obvious work in progress, indicated by the tear marks that suggested the first several pages had been removed and a number of revision marks. Some items were struck out, others added onto or revised. It was a blunt indicator of just how much of a realist the keeper had been. The ink on the last used pages was crisp and new; it had been updated only recently, possibly at the time the writer received news that she would be acting on a mission. In spite of all the redactions and amendments, the document was well-organized enough that one could easily identify relevant items through as little as skimming through the pages: • Pokemon - There are many of them, but I hope that they should all find homes where they will be cared for properly.
• Jewelry box - I can't think of anyone who would possibly want a single one of these fancy stones, but if such individuals exist, they are welcome to them.
xx• Exception: Labradorite. The stone is the first item I managed to swipe, and having accomplished as much with Izaya's information, it has a place in his hands if he will take it. The chain of the pendant is a memento from Grande Ile, though, and while I'm not sure if he would even want such a thing, I believe it is most fitting for Asch's possession.
• Rapier - Asch helped me to select and learn to use it, so he should know best what to do with it.
• Books - I have a lot of materials and references about acting that could be useful to my department. If Isadora would like any of the psychology manuals, she is welcome to them. Unclaimed materials can be placed in the community library.
• Clothing - ??? Who would want any of this? It would be nice if it's not thrown out since some of it was fairly expensive, but I can't imagine anyone taking it.
• Lily - It was a gift from Inigo and should be returned to him.
• Should I be unable to do so, I would appreciate it if someone would inform my brother. My Pidgeotto knows how to reach him; he needs only to be given a letter. The Pidgeotto understands only the French language.Every word in the notebook was written with an even, unemotional stroke that suggested she never once considered the possibility that her will would one day be executed.
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Posted: Sun Jan 29, 2012 9:44 pm
(In response to Asch's letter...)It had been a long day. An important economic policy had fallen through in its earliest stages, and Leon had spent the better part of the evening drafting a new proposal for a workaround. The late autumn sun had set hours prior, and the night sky had been swallowed by gray clouds of gloom. He sat at the desk of his study, chin his hand and elbow on his desk, and read over the various documents spread before him. Economic policies were the trickiest to handle. The consumer always wanted more product for the price, and the producer always wanted more price for the product... It was veritably impossible to find a compromise to which both sides would cede. "Leon." The addressed started in surprise, turning to the room's entrance to find the source of the call. It was his wife, dressed in her night clothes - a testament to the hour. "Leon, Alou's arrived." "Ah--" He stood suddenly, scattering the documents on the desk's surface. A reply from his sister, that was all he needed to turn that dreadful day around. "I'm coming!" The duke knew that Joli was nowhere near as excited about the response as he was, but he found it difficult to contain his excitement even for the sake of his beloved wife. It was a short walk from his study to the bedroom, made shorter by his enthusiastic pace. This would be the letter containing his sister's definite response on his offer of her visit. She had more or less acquiesced in an earlier letter, and all that remained was to establish the details. He was looking forward to it. But Gui, perched on the back of a chair in the bedroom, was not his usual bright-eyed, attentive self. The bird's head was bowed, his crest flattened against his head, a sad glint in his honey eyes. A long, low coo greeted Leon as he arrived in the room. "Quel est le problème, Alou?" the man asked gently, passing a hand over the Pidgeotto's head. Gui met his former master's gaze briefly before ducking, pulling the letter up from where he had left it in the chair, and pushing it at Leon's hand. The letter's recipient yielded to the insistence, accepting the delivery and pulling the paper from it. He moved to join Joli where she lingered at the doorway; he did not wish for his wife to be apart from the exchange any longer, and a letter to him was as good as a letter to her. He unfolded the leaf and began to read over the words. His brow immediately furrowed, a startled confusion settling into his features as he continued. Joli, who read alongside him, placed a gentle hand on her husband's arm that would become a careful embrace. There was a quiet worry to her touch as she awaited the reaction. "This is a terrible joke," he said, at last, with a bitter laugh. The humor of the sound failed to reach his expression. "Just awful. Why would she send this? If she didn't want to come, she should have said so." He shrugged away from his wife's arms and discarded the letter in the wastebasket near the door. He continued through the door frame and down the hallway, quickly returning to his study. "Leon, wait--" Joli recoiled as the door was unceremoniously slammed in her face. Days passed, and despite all efforts, the duke would not leave the room into which he had barricaded himself. Unable to coerce him to open the door even for her, Joli entrusted Gui with the task of carrying meals through the study's high window. For several days, the neatly and safely tied tray would return to the woman's hands with its contents untouched, though as time passed it would return more and more picked over. Joli was unsure whether her husband was actually eating the missing food or simply removing it from the package to assuage her worries of his well-being. A month went by. Parliament reconvened to discuss Leon's economic policy in spite of his absence, and without its primary defendant present to support it, the arrangement was dismissed from the agenda. It was another few weeks before - unexpectedly - Leon emerged from his study. His expression was sullen and worn, and his gait lacked the usual confidence with which he carried himself. Joli was no less thrilled to see her dear husband. "Chéri," she said, her voice quiet as she raised a gentle touch to his shoulder. "Are you all right?" "Mmn." The man leaned forward, resting his head on his wife's shoulder. He breathed a long, shuddering breath. The room from which he had emerged was a mess - books torn from the shelves and discarded in heaps on the floor, a lamp overturned and shattered, and pages of papers strewn about in varying levels of wholeness. With a few carefully chosen words, Joli coaxed the young duke into his bedroom to rest properly and set herself to the task of returning the study to a more orderly condition. Slender fingers collected the loose leaves into her arms, and wandering eyes couldn't help but find the words that had been written. You wretched liar. Why would you do this to me? Why would you let things go as far as they did only to take it all back? At least have the gall to tell me properly instead of hiding behind a fake name with such a horrible story. Don't just go telling people you've died. You have no idea how it would make people feel if it were true.Joli's hands tightened on the note, and she bit idly at her lip. She pushed the paper into a stack and reached for more of the litter. Why would you do this? You can't just die. Not after all of this. Come home, Aila. Maybe we can't be a proper family, and maybe we can't just pretend that all the things between us were just our imagination, but that doesn't mean you can't come home. I don't care if you never think of me as a brother, but you can't be anything but my precious sister.He had spent all this time bearing the burden of his sister's death by himself. Tears gathered in Joli's eyes. What was she - as a wife, as a lover, or even as a friend - to have left him to suffer in isolation? You're my dear and precious sister, and I can't tell you how much I want to see you. I want you stand here in front of me, and I want to hear you speak. I want to show you to my country - look how strong my sister is, look what an amazing woman she's become. Why can't you come here? I'll forgive you if you've lied. Please just tell me it's any reason but what you've told me.Joli shook her head briefly in disbelief of herself. She had embraced feelings of relief to know that the girl was dead, to know that the individual who had murdered her daughter had met with justice. But her husband's sister was just as much family as was her own daughter. Her husband's sister was the last blood family he had had left. She was gone, and she left behind even less than their daughter had. They didn't even have a body to present for a memorial this time. Joli didn't even know what the girl's face looked like. I'm so sorry. I am a failure as your brother. I was supposed to protect you. If only I had not killed Father. If only I had never gone into the city. If only I could take it all back, everything from the time I was a small boy. I am worthless. I have failed at every turn to defend the people closest to me. I'm so sorry. Please forgive me for being such a useless human being.The duchess set the papers aside and rose to her feet, moving at a brisk pace towards the bedroom where she had left her husband. She was greeted with a gust of chilled air from the window, its panes thrust open and its maw silhouetted by the form of a man. "Leon!" Joli was upon him in an instant, arms wrapped around him from behind and tugging him away from the window, "What are you doing?!" She received a meek laugh in reply, "Don't worry, beloved. Just getting some fresh air..." Her hands remained locked steadfastly in place. "I'm sorry, Leon... I love you so much, but here I sat while you suffered... I should have been by your side." His own hands raised to cover hers, pulling them to his lips where a kiss was planted on her fingers. "I would not have had you there... I have been awful to you. I locked you out of my life, even after promising that I would not exclude you anymore." They stood in silence, the winter cold creeping through their clothes serving as proof of their existence. It would be a while longer, but Gui would eventually return to the Team Rocket headquarters building and seek out Asch to deliver his parcel. The plain envelope, pinned shut with a simple seal rather than the usual Parliamentary emblem, contained a rather candid reply to the message that had been received so long ago: Asch,
I apologize for the delay in my writing, and I hope this letter finds you and your colleagues well. I must thank you for taking the time to share your information with me, even if it was only out of obligation to my sister's wishes. Aila was among the most cherished people I have ever known, and I hope that her memory is honored. Thank you so much for being a friend to my sister.
Leon
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